Don't You Mess Around With Me
by Konstantya
Summary: "How long have you even been here?" she demanded. "Long enough." "What the hell does *that* mean?" His unnaturally blue eyes pierced hers. "Long enough to know you struggle to hit the high notes of Pat Benatar's 'Heartbreaker.' " (Or, Dot takes a shower and shenanigans ensue. 2017 series. Slight Overkill/Dot.)


A/N: So I started writing this before watching season 2 (LEAVE ME ALONE OKAY, I HATE BINGING THINGS, PLUS THERE WAS A HOLIDAY WEEKEND WHERE I DIDN'T HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO WATCH ANYTHING BUT HAD THE OPPORTUNITY TO LET MY MIND WANDER IN REGARDS TO THESE TWO IDIOTS), so even though it seems literally only a day canonically passes between episodes 1x12 and 2x01, let's just pretend it was a bit more than that, and that this fic takes place within that nebulous timeframe, okay? Okay, cool, thanks.

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**Don't You Mess Around With Me**

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The water was up to temperature, her music was on, and her vanilla-lavender aromatherapy candle was lit. With a relieved sigh, Dot stepped into the shower.

Admittedly, it would be better if it was night, not mid-afternoon, and if she'd be able to crawl into bed afterward, not run errands before her evening shift, but she'd long-since learned to take what she could get as far as relaxation went. She closed her eyes as she stuck her head under the water, and tapped her foot to the beat as she lathered up her hair. It felt good, to lose herself in the spray and songs, just like it felt good to lose herself in the rush of the derby rink, and at the end, she turned the faucet to near-scalding and stood under it for an extra minute, stretching the tight muscles in her neck.

When her skin was pleasantly tingly and the air was thick with steam, Dot turned off the water with another sigh. She gave her head a cursory rub with her towel and then wrapped the article around her torso. Next steps: candle out, music off, window open, fan on. Clean and refreshed, she ran her free hand through her hair, opened the door, then padded from the bathroom to her bedroom, softly humming all the while.

Only to jump and almost drop her towel when confronted with the tall, dark figure of Overkill.

"Jesus!" she gasped. It wasn't exactly a surprise that he knew where she lived, but still, one just didn't expect to walk in on a wanted vigilante hanging out near one's hamper. "Don't you ever knock?"

Overkill remained nonplussed. "Not if I can avoid it. Knocking is for the weak."

_"No,"_ she insisted, managing to catch her breath (so much for trying to loosen those muscles in her neck), "knocking is for the polite. And the—the…"—she gestured at him fussily, in all his armor-clad and skull-helmeted glory—_"normal."_ God, she missed 'normal.' Which was maybe just a longing for an abstract concept, she realized, because honestly, had her life _ever_ been normal, even before she had superheroes teaming up with her brother and breaking in all over the place? Maybe once, long ago, back before her dad had died, but even that might have been pushing it; having a pilot for a father, it turned out, came with its own set of unusual circumstances.

She shook the thoughts off and instead demanded, "How long have you even been here?"

"Long enough."

"What the hell does _that_ mean?"

His unnaturally blue eyes pierced hers. "Long enough to know you struggle to hit the high notes of Pat Benatar's 'Heartbreaker.' "

Dot gaped, her already-pink cheeks flushing a shade darker. It just figured, that out of this whole mess, his learning she sang in the shower would be the thing she was most flustered about. She firmly pressed her lips together and let herself glare at him. "You're lucky I came out in a towel. I don't always, you know."

Overkill didn't bat a single eyelash. "I would have turned around."

"How very reassuring," she retorted sourly. What was perhaps the weirdest thing, though, was that she actually believed him on that point. It was a strange thought to direct at a man who'd gone from AEGIS agent to cold, remorseless killing machine, but at times he could really be quite…respectful? Was that the word?

Dot sighed at her own mixed emotions and planted a hand on her hip. "Why are you even here, anyway?"

"Dangerboat intercepted a transmission. Something about an armed robbery in the area. He was, and I quote, 'concerned for Arthur's sister.' "

She quirked a dubious eyebrow. "So…what? He nagged you to come and check on me?"

"Something like that."

Irritated, she crossed her arms. "I can take care of myself, you know."

_"I_ know," he said, and there it was again—that odd respect. Coupled with something more intense that was hard to read through the skull mask. It was almost enough to bring another blush to her cheeks, but it was then that he turned to look around the room. "Even so, you haven't noticed anything…"—his cybernetic eyes narrowed shrewdly—"…suspicious, have you?"

"You mean besides a masked vigilante breaking into my apartment while I'm in the shower?"

He looked back at her, and she was almost impressed with the way he kept his gaze locked on hers, like she wasn't just standing there, wrapped only in a towel, her hair still wet and slowly dripping water down her neck and over her collarbone. "I didn't expect you to be in the shower," he admitted. "Bad timing on my part."

Dot let out a short, incredulous puff of a laugh. "Is that supposed to be some sort of apology?"

"I don't know," he said pointedly. "Is it?"

She sighed. Christ, one would think having a superhero/antihero break into her place just to (apparently?) make sure she was okay would be more flattering or sexy or something. In truth, it was just exhausting, and suddenly she just wanted to get to the grocery store like she had originally planned. She stalked toward her closet, forcing Overkill to somewhat awkwardly back up to keep his physical distance. For a vengeful moment she was tempted to keep moving toward him, to back him into the corner just to see what he'd do, how uncomfortable he might get. It was a strange sort of power, to know that she could have such an effect on such an imposing man, but rather than dwell on it, she simply grabbed a shirt off a hanger. He was well built, there was no denying that, and surprisingly handsome underneath the mask, even with the scars and artificial eyes, but the last thing she needed was to start crushing on a revenge-addled assassin. Especially one who had a tendency to speak in macho, melodramatic clichés.

From there, she stalked over to her dresser, yanked the top drawer open, and fished out a bra and a pair of underwear. That seemed to be the tipping point, because Overkill finally said, "What are you doing?" Was that a waver of uncertainty she heard in his voice? She hoped so. It would serve him right, if he was embarrassed by seeing her underthings.

"Getting dressed," she grumbled. She opened the next drawer and picked up a pair of jeans. "I have to go out. I'm almost out of milk and coffee."

"Eggs, too," he added. Dot stopped and turned to stare at him.

"You looked in my fridge?" she asked.

"Crime could be lurking anywhere," he shot back. "Also, your salad dressing's expired."

"Thanks," she said flatly.

It was then—and only then—that the situation seemed to turn genuinely awkward, as silence fell between them and they proceeded to spend a few seconds simply studying each other from across the room. Dot swallowed, and her hand tightened a little anxiously around the top of her towel. The top of her distressingly _short_ towel, she realized all of a sudden, and resisted the urge to modestly press her legs together, lest the movement draw his attention.

"Well, uh, I need to get dressed…" she started to say, at the same time Overkill said, "Well, uh, I guess I should be going…"

"…Right," Dot said. Yeah, not awkward at _all_. "Well, uh…tell Dangerboat I said hi, and that…um…I'm fine?"

"Right," Overkill echoed. Another beat passed, and then he decisively made for her window, opening it up and firing his grappling hook somewhere toward the roof. He gave the line an experimental tug, swung his body outside, and it was then that she caught it—that she caught his eyes give her one last look, this time finally dropping from her face to rake over the rest of her form. And then he engaged the grapple line.

"Hey!" Dot shouted indignantly, as he flew out of sight. She rushed over to the window and craned her head out, but—true to that ridiculous air of mystery he loved to cultivate—he was already gone without a trace. And what exactly had she been hoping to do, anyway? Tell him off for checking her out? Yell "no fair" and let him know that he could at least give her the opportunity to return the favor?

She huffed, glared up at the top of the building, and then pulled her head back in and slammed the window shut. For good measure, she drew the curtains, too. Following that, she retrieved her clothes from where she'd unceremoniously flung them on the floor, and sat down hard on the edge of her bed, a little worked up from the encounter despite herself.

Okay, she allowed herself to admit, at long last unwrapping her towel. Maybe it had been just the _slightest_ bit sexy.

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A/N: Was Dangerboat honestly worried about Dot for Arthur's sake? Was he instead trying to play matchmaker with Overkill and Dot? Or did Overkill take it upon himself to go check on her, little to no nagging from his roommate required? You decide!

In other news, because I started writing this before watching season 2, it was a hilarious little coincidence to find out that Arthur essentially asks Overkill the same question in episode 2x01 ("can't you knock?") that Dot does here. An Everest sibling connection perhaps? XD

Anyway, thanks for reading!


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